


terrible things

by edwardnygmas



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Other, and i wanted to write from his pov, basically i just love frederick chilton, he deserved so much better wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 21:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edwardnygmas/pseuds/edwardnygmas
Summary: Frederick would have considered himself accustomed to gruesome and terrible things.





	1. Chapter 1

Frederick would have considered himself accustomed to gruesome and terrible things. He ran a god damn institution for the criminally insane, it kind of comes with the job. Dealing with psychopaths all day, each with their own twisted story of how they killed their families or something just as bad. But Frederick liked his job, liked the high social standing it provided him, liked the paycheck that allowed him to indulge in the finer things in life.  
His encounter with Abel Gideon left him scarred, mentally as well as physically, but he had a good recovery, and surprised his colleagues when he returned to work promptly. He put on a face of dignity and held his head high, realizing that he seemed pretentious as always but not caring. He wouldn't let anyone see him for the mess he was, going home at five to his huge, empty house and making his sorry frozen dinner because he couldn’t will himself to learn vegan recipes. He’d find himself in bed by nine and awake again somewhere between two and five AM, in a pool of his own sweat, with images of Gideon looming above him with a scalpel in hand, and he’d instinctively reach for his scar with a trembling hand.  
He was always on the fence between “this was all my fault, me and my huge ego were practically asking Gideon to do this to me after what I did to him” and “I was the victim here, Gideon was already a murderer and nothing I did could have warranted this”.  
As the months passed, Frederick found himself getting better. He started cooking his own meals, sleeping better, feeling more like himself. He also had Will Graham in his hospital, which might have contributed to distracting his mind from his previous trauma. Frederick was engrossed by the man, determined to get inside his mind and understand him, but found himself beyond frustrated when Graham refused to talk to him. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about Graham that interested him so much, but he found himself constantly watching him through the various cameras around the institution and having therapy sessions as often as he could, even if the conversations were mostly one ended.  
When Frederick was asked to testify against Will Graham in court, he agreed. He would testify that Graham was a psychopath, and therefore he would stay under his care, in his hospital. It was kind of selfish, Frederick knew that, it was his obsession with the man, the control he wanted to keep over him more than anything. But there was something else there also, in his mind, that he tried not to think about, because it scared him. Frederick did not want Graham to die. He knew the crimes Graham was accused of, and he knew what people like that get - the death penalty. He told himself that his interest in Graham was no more than a professional one, that his mind was a puzzle and once Frederick solved it, he would no longer be important. The trial went well.  
“Therapy” sessions with Graham continued, if you could call them that. They usually went something like this: Frederick would talk and Graham would sit with a vacant look on his face, his mind clearly elsewhere. If he did ever respond to Frederick’s prompts, they were with either a curt yes or no or an insult. Until randomly at one session, Graham spoke first.  
“I’ll give you the same deal I gave Beverly Katz.”  
Graham agreed to be tested, and Frederick made his big mistake.  
He began to believe Will Graham, and worse, he began to trust him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place during yakimono.

Frederick would have considered himself accustomed to gruesome and terrible things.

He was wrong.   
The sight of Gideon, dead in his own home, limbs removed and half eaten was something that could never permanently leave his mind. And his nightmare only got worse when he woke up with blood-soaked clothes and a gun in his hand. He sat there for a moment, frozen in place, trying to remember what had just happened because damn his mind was fuzzy. But then he remembered, Hannibal Lector had been here, and oh my god Hannibal Lecter was going to kill him. But a glance showed an empty room and a silent house, and the only conclusion Frederick could come to was that Lecter had spared his life, for whatever reason. Or maybe telling himself that was the only thing that gave him the energy to stand on shaky legs, still clutching the gun just in case, and slowly walking towards the door. Once he stepped into the kitchen, he froze. Seeing dead bodies was something he was used to, even mutilated ones, but from a distance or in pictures. This was different. He must have stood there for only thirty seconds, then ran to his car. But even sitting locked inside his vehicle, the images wouldn't leave his mind.The blood, the carnage, god, the blood that was all over him now, staining his expensive car seats. Gideon’s body, Lecter, all this goddamn blood. Frederick was breathing heavy, his hands shaking as he fumbled to start the car, his mind racing as he faced his newest dilemma: where to go now. His first thought was to Jack Crawford, to the FBI. They could keep him safe, they’d have to protect him, even if they didn’t believe him about Lecter. Frederick started to drive when it really hit him, and he had to pull off to the side of the road to process his newest thought. Why had he been so stupid, why didn’t he realize it before? Crawford wouldn’t see him as the victim, those men who had been killed were FBI, Frederick would be the suspect. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate, and looked around madly, aware he was looking crazy but paranoid that he was being watched. He wasn’t thinking clearly still, the bodies still on his mind, the smell of blood overwhelming his senses, but he knew that he was on the run now. No one would believe him about any of it. He tried to think of where else to go, maybe his hospital, it would be closed now but workers would still be there. They would let him in, he could stay there long enough to at least clean himself up. But he couldn't go there, the more he thought it through. He wouldn’t feel safe there, Lecter knew that was where he worked, it would be so easy for him to find him there, and he didn’t even trust his own staff. Just the other week one of his nurses was arrested for murder for gods sake. Cars were driving by, and Frederick thought about removing his license plate. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, he would never kill anyone, why should he have to run? Why wasn’t there anyone who would believe him? Then his breathing calmed. His hands still shook as he put the car in drive and began toward his new destination, but he felt safer already. Why didn’t he think of this sooner? There was someone who would have to believe him, because he went through the same thing, and Frederick would be safe there. He drove to Wolf Trap, Virginia.


	3. Chapter 3

After his encounter with Gideon, Frederick developed a hatred for hospitals. And now he was back in one, with a bullet wound in the face. Just like before, he arrived at the hospital unconscious, in critical condition, and awoke eventually to a stinging pain. A few weeks later and the pain was still there, Frederick assumed it would never go away for good, but that wasn’t the worst part. It was the shame, the embarrassment he felt. He hated that the nurses had to see him like this, the way they looked at him with pity filled gazes and spoke to him like a child, telling him he would be okay. It was an insult to Frederick, who always held his head high and took no sympathy from anyone. At least none of his colleagues or employees saw him in this pathetic state, he thought. Or maybe he was just telling himself this to make up for the zero visitors he had, no friends, no Crawford who had arrested him for murders he did not commit, no apology from anyone in the FBI who let him get shot in the fucking face, no Dr. Bloom who didn’t doubt for a second that he was a cold blooded serial killer, no Will Graham who had called the FBI when all he had wanted was to use his fucking shower. He felt so stupid because he really trusted Graham, he went to him in desperation, begged him for help, showed him the side of himself that he never showed anyone before, his fear. And here he was, in an empty white room, feeling almost more scared and alone than he ever had. Of course nothing could top the fear he felt when Gideon was cutting him open, or when he discovered the bodies in his home, but this fear was different. This was the combined fear that Lecter would come finish the job, and that this is all Frederick would be remembered for. After all his years of studying psychology, working his way to the top to his position at Baltimore State Hospital, his years working the Chesapeake Ripper case alongside the FBI, all his name would ever be associated with is “murderer”. He’d never get his job back, and his job was everything to him. Being inside that lonely hospital room for the second time changed Frederick, and he truly felt separated from the outside world. He thought that he might already be forgotten, a new Chief of Staff might be getting hired at BSHCI right now, and none of the employees would care, because they never liked Frederick anyway. His name would probably never be mentioned in that building again. The FBI would clear his name eventually, but they still wouldn’t care about Frederick, wasting away in a hospital bed. No, they wouldn’t care that they had ruined an innocent man's life over false charges, and they probably would never catch Lecter anyway, meaning that he would live in this state of fear for the rest of life. And what kind of life is that anyway? Frederick’s mind went to dark places, and he had never felt more alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Cheap hotels don’t suit Frederick. After being released from the hospital, his face bandaged and sore, his pride took another hit as he checked himself into a small hotel that he was sure he would never have stepped foot into before. He had first gone to his house, just because where else was he going to go? He had thought it through while he was still in the hospital, imagined how it would feel to go back there, and he had assumed it would evoke fear. Fear that Lecter would come back for him, fear that Gideon and the other bodies would still be there, unchanged. But as Frederick walked slowly to his front door, he only felt sadness. This had been his home for years, and he used to love coming there from work, being able to finally let his guard down and relax. But as he opened the door and stepped inside, he knew that this could never be his home again, it was just a house. He walked inside stiffly, noticing the harsh smell of paint that clung to the walls that were stained red with blood the last time he had been there. He looked at his kitchen counter, which was spotless, but all he could see was the body of the FBI agent that had been placed there. The body that he had been blamed for. Frederick just felt numb. He walked into his living room, and noticed the lack of his furniture. His grand piano sat there as the sole occupant of the space, and Frederick knew that everything else must have been too bloody to salvage. He didn’t touch anything, he felt like he was walking through a crime museum. And so Frederick found himself checked into a nearby hotel, sitting on the bed, unsure of what to do from there. He was still getting over the embarrassment of talking with the receptionist, as she was the first person he had spoken to outside of the hospital, and she therefore was the first person to see him with his bandaged face. He saw the way she had looked at him, saw the evident pity on her face. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, he wanted their respect, all his life all he’d wanted was respect. Standing up, Frederick walked to the full length mirror on the wall and took in his appearance. The white bandages covered half of his face, his eye looked discolored, and he was standing with a fucking cane. God, was he really that pathetic? He ordered himself room service that night, ashamed to wander out of the cramped room that would become his home for the next few weeks. His life fell into a dull routine at that hotel, and his nights were long and difficult. 

Nightmares were something Frederick had desperately hoped to leave in the past, he had experienced enough of them after his Gideon trauma to last him the rest of his life. Or so he had thought, because they became a nightly occurrence for him at the hotel. At the hospital, he had been on all kinds of pain relievers and drugs to help him sleep, so if he did have these nightmares then, he didn’t remember them. But starting the first night he spent out, they haunted him, and he’d wake up screaming, crying, or sweating, images of blood and carnage fresh in his mind. As much as Frederick tried to forget or block out those images, they always came back to him in his dreams. 

Frederick was sitting on the hotel bed, watching tv, when the phone call came. He didn’t know how anyone got his number, as it was a new phone he had recently purchased after he left the hospital, but regardless it was the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. They offered him his position back. It surprised Frederick himself how quickly he returned the call and accepted, but what could he say? That job had been his life. Maybe going back to work was just what he needed. 

A month had passed since Frederick had accepted the position at BSHCI, and he was sitting at his piano in his home. His new home.  
He had sold the old one, for much less money than he should have, he would add, but big surprise that no one wanted to buy a murder house, no matter how many bedrooms it had. He couldn’t afford to buy another house as grand as that one had been, and although he did his fair share of griping that after all he had suffered through he should at least be living in luxury, he ended up settling for a smaller house farther away from town. He found himself doing things that he would previously have never even thought of more and more recently. He had looked down at Will Graham for living such a reclusive life in the middle of nowhere, but now he kind of got it. But Graham was the last person he wanted to think about. 

Frederick found himself getting back to a normal-ish life, or as close to normal as he could get. He’d go to work, his head held high as always, makeup covering the scars he was pretending not to have. If any of his coworkers noticed or wanted to ask about them, they kept their mouths shut, which Frederick was thankful for. And then he would go home and distract himself by decorating and customizing his new house. He was very picky when it came to his home, he wanted everything in the right place and in a certain way, and it was a sad fact that he was always decorated for and ready for company that never came. That was the deal with his old house too, as much as he tried not to remember it. He had bought the huge house with the intent of hosting exquisite dinners and parties for his colleagues, who would marvel at how nice the place was and how nice of a host he was and blah blah blah. It never happened. And he knew it would never happen in the new house either, but old habits die hard. 

Frederick was also getting more used to applying the makeup to his face every day. He hadn’t wanted to ever remove the bandages, as demeaning as they were he knew they were better than the ugly wound underneath. But soon enough he had to stop wearing them, and was faced with the problem of the unsightly bullet hole. Wearing a contact lens in his eye was easy enough, but covering up something that took up half his face was a different story. He hated the way he looked, and couldn’t bear to look in the mirror, but when he did, found that he couldn’t look away. The skin, scarred and red, taunted him, and his first attempt at makeup left Frederick more than discouraged. He tried to match his skin tone and found that the wound was still noticeable, but his vanity forced him to keep trying. He got to a place where he could get a good result, the wound barely able to be perceived even to him, but his labor cost him over an hour. Not that Frederick had much else to do, and he was usually up at an unusually early time anyway, so he worked the makeup process into his everyday routine, growing more confident day by day. 

Frederick found himself able to go out without the fear of being stared at, found himself able to talk to people without seeing them noticeably staring at his face. Sure, the scar was there if someone looked close enough, but the fact was that no one was looking that closely, and he was thankful as hell for it. He sometimes missed the days he was desperate for everyone’s attention, when he wanted to be the one everyone’s eyes were on in a crowded room, but he knew that it was always an unrealistic goal to have anyway. Frederick had never been the spotlight, and now, God or Lecter or Graham or whoever’s cruel trick this was had left him deformed so that he never would be. Of course.


	5. Chapter 5

Angry was the only logical word to describe what Frederick Chilton was. He had come to terms with his appearance, makeup did work wonders, and he was still suffering from nightmares, but that was normal to him now. There was only one thing that made Frederick as infuriated as he was, and that thing, or that person for that matter, was Will Graham. Upon being released from the hospital, Frederick had tried his best not to think of anything related to his accident, including Graham. He had enough to deal with without thinking of men like Graham, Lecter, Crawford, the whole lot of them. All those men and more had wronged him in some way, but it was just Graham that consumed his thoughts. Because he had trusted him. He had known Lecter was capable of horrible things, he knew Crawford was never on his side, and he knew the other FBI agents were just following what Crawford told them to do like sheep, but Graham had surprised him with his betrayal. And that’s really what it was too, there was no other way for Frederick to try and rationalize it. Graham had betrayed him. All he had done was show up to his house and ask to use his fucking shower, he didn’t have to call Crawford. He knew exactly what would happen if he did, and he just didn’t care. He wasn’t asking for Graham’s help, he didn’t even want his damn help, he had just been so weak and had nowhere else to go. Actually, that was a lie, Frederick knew that deep down, he had wanted Graham to help him. But after what he had been through, who could fucking blame him? He thought Will had been his friend. He had wanted Will to be his friend. But that was behind him now, fuck Will Graham. Fuck him for ruining Frederick’s life, fuck him for betraying him, fuck him for everything. 

Frederick didn’t know exactly why he was driving to Wolf Trap Virginia, he knew it was not smart or logical or in any way a good idea, but he was there already, at Graham’s door. He guessed he just wanted him to know how he felt after having pent it up for so long. He knocked with loud, hard, angry knocks, and heard dogs barking inside. He was having second thoughts about being there, but then the door opened and Will Graham was standing in front of him. Frederick wished he could know what the man was thinking, because he always kept such a straight face but he must be feeling something about seeing Frederick like this, something, anything. And that thought gave him a burst of energy, and the next thing Frederick knew, his fist was swinging at Graham’s face. 

He was never a violent person, in fact, that was probably the first time Frederick had ever punched someone before, but hell, being vivisected, framed for murder, and shot in the face changes a person. Surprisingly, Graham took the punch, possibly too shocked or confused to move, but then he was saying “What the hell Frederick?” and he looked mad. He looked really mad, but Frederick wasn’t leaving now. 

“You betrayed me, I trusted you and you let this happen to me.” 

Frederick was yelling, looking Graham right in the eyes as he let out what he had kept inside for too long. 

“I fucking trusted you about Lecter, who else ever fucking believed you? No one! Beverly did and she died, he fucking killed her, he tried to kill me and you didn’t care! You had no reason to call Crawford, what did I ever do to you but try and help? I’m sorry that I was what, a dick when you were charged with murder? I thought you were the only person I could trust, I fucking trusted you and you did this to me!” He pointed harshly at his cheek as he spat out the last words. 

Strangely enough, Graham was also angry, and Frederick had never seen him like this before. It was a change from the uninterested patient he had been at BSHCI.   
“You expected me to trust you? You testified against me! You told everyone that would listen that I was a murderer and a psychopath, you didn’t ever try and help me, you just wanted to get in my damn head.” 

They stayed on Graham’s porch for only a few minutes, arguing back and forth, but Frederick had no intention to waste his time there for much longer and Graham clearly wanted him to leave.Their encounter ended with Graham giving a sarcastic “Well I’m sorry for whatever it is that you blame me for. Hope it helps you sleep at night, doctor.” Frederick just said “fuck you” and walked back to his car, not knowing what he had been expecting. 

Frederick would admit that he was let down. He had placed Will Graham on a pedestal of sorts, had been sure that he was a good man, a trustworthy man. But that was over, and one thing he knew for sure was that he wanted nothing more to do with him.


	6. Chapter 6

Will Graham was in the hospital. He had been stabbed by Hannibal Lecter, and although he would live, he wasn’t in the best shape. Nurses told the man that was there with flowers waiting to see him that he was barely conscious, but that he could still see him. 

“You’re his first visitor.” The nurse said. 

Frederick nodded, and walked into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was short, apologies. but I hope you enjoyed reading this :) i'd love to hear any thoughts or criticisms, if anyone is still reading about chilton in 2019. i know i know, im like five years late to the fandom.


End file.
